


and the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave

by takesthesebrokenwings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg Louis, Pregnant Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1284256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takesthesebrokenwings/pseuds/takesthesebrokenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>little moments during which they are already married & louis is pregnant with harry’s child. ~5k, possible warnings for false medical facts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave

**Author's Note:**

> you can also read it here on my Tumblr: http://takesthesebrokenwings.tumblr.com/post/78928761327/mpreglouis & thank you all so much for reading and commenting and bookmarking and kudos, you're all dolls <3

Louis still hadn’t been able to tell whether he enjoyed being pregnant or not.

Because— _woah_.  _Oh my fucking God, Jesus fucking Christ_ — _woah_. This, this was huge. Being pregnant was huge. Having a baby growing up—a heart beating, a soul feeling, a life blossoming—inside of him, was huge. Abso-fucking-lutely, life-alteringly, wonderfully and yes, horrifyingly, huge. Louis hadn’t quite gotten used to it himself, still new and dazed at the fact that he was having a child, like it was something unbelievable, like everything had changed so fast, and his mind was slow, slow, slow, unable to catch up.

(And it had indeed changed really fast, Louis thought, one moment he was just having wild sex with Harry like they always did, the next his body was feeling weird and then somehow he had found himself looking at a pregnancy test stick that had showed two entire fucking red lines).

Even so, Louis knew that he loved this. He loved their child, because seriously, why would he not, considering this was a baby Harry Styles he was having. Harry Styles, with all his curls and his dimples and the sound of his joyful laugh and those smiles that made Louis’ heart feel entirely too big for his chest. (Baby Harry Styles would have all of this). Harry Styles, with his voice and his adorable dance moves and his talent and his kindness and his heart, big enough for everyone and warm enough that Louis had decided to make it his home not so long after they had met. (And yes, baby Harry Styles would have all of this, too).

But still, Louis himself would be the first one to admit that he was scared shitless. He’d read about it enough to know that being pregnant is hard, and he didn’t even have to read much to know that male pregnancy is even rougher, both physically and mentally too. Hell, he didn’t even have to read anything to know that giving birth to a child was a painful, painful progress, and there were so many things that might just go wrong, while— _no no no_ , he just couldn’t let this go ruined.

But because of Harry, all was forgotten.

Between the two of them, Harry’d always been the cheery one, Louis knew that, he’d always been the one to find joy in everything, and then smile until his cheeks hurt and laugh until his eyes watered, but it was so fucking ridiculously endearing, Louis thought, the way Harry’s eyes lit up and both his dimples were on show and his arms were constantly waving in the air whenever he talked about their child.

"You will be fine, you know. I-I read about this, and I know that it’s hard, but the success rate is high and babies are born with two daddies all the time. I know you’re worried, because we didn’t expect this and everything, but it’s gonna be okay," Harry said one night when they were in bed with their legs tangled under the sheet and Louis tucked into his side, "And if-if anything goes wrong, which it won’t, you won’t have to go through it alone. I will be right here. It’s gonna be all okay, Lou, I promise."

Louis was quiet, because he knew he didn’t have to say anything for Harry to understand what he was thinking. So he laid still, only pressing his face further down into the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry’s large, callous hand went up to stroke his hair, his thumb tracing absentminded patterns on Louis’ forehead, and Louis found himself curling his fingers around the hem of Harry’s shirt, tugging lightly—their silent signal for wanting to be held and cuddled. The other boy got the hint immediately, and he wrapped his arms around Louis, using the advantage of being taller and bigger than Louis to envelope him in a hug that shielded away most of his body. Harry rubbed slow circles on his back and kissed his forehead, and Louis thought maybe he was being more than just a little bit needy, but he didn’t care.

They stayed like that for a long time, and Louis let Harry’s familiar warmth and smell and the _thump-thump-thump_  beats of Harry’s heart calm him down before finally saying, echoing Harry’s words in a small voice: “Yeah, it’s gonna be all okay.”

~

Louis was more tired than he could express with words.

Eight weeks into pregnancy (he saw Harry marking the date every week on their calendar in the kitchen), and his body had changed a lot. The baby bump was showing fairly well now (he wasn’t fitting into those skinny jeans he loved anymore, nor would Harry agree to let him wear them any longer, because  _no, Lou, anything that tight wouldn’t be healthy for you or our baby, would it?_ ); his back ached a lot, and he was constantly feeling exhausted already. His body either felt like it was drained out of energy or on too much caffein, and sometimes both at the same time.

(He didn’t even know if it was possible to feel like that, or if he had just been exaggerating over the whole thing.)

However, Louis would be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy Harry’s fussing over him, maybe a little more than he’d care to admit.

There were times when Louis found it annoying, of course, while he didn’t know if it was just due to his mood swings, which were normal and most likely to happen daily at this point, or if is was because Harry was truly annoying sometimes. Like those days when he managed to call him every five minute while he was at work and Louis was home, or when Harry bought two of those giant meals at the fancy restaurant across the street for him for dinner ( _one for you, one for our baby_ ), or when he freaked out and nearly called an ambulance when Louis first told him about his morning sickness—Louis didn’t really know.

But then Harry would always do that thing when he was effortlessly charming, and he would grin at Louis with that smile only meant for him—the one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and his dimples on display, and he would look at Louis’ swollen belly proudly and lovingly, lips between his teeth and green eyes shining like stars; and he would fuss over tiny little things like the lads had warned Louis he would. A pillow on each side of Louis every night, a blanket over his shoulder to keep him from being cold, a wet cloth and some fruit by the table near their bed when he was feeling tired, a press of the lips on his forehead and another on his belly and a quick check-up, just to be sure everything was alright, whenever he went home and saw Louis sleeping—all those little, little things, and Louis would be lying, too, if he said he wasn’t falling in love with Harry all over again.

~

"It’s a girl. Fuck, Louis, we’re getting a girl." Harry said for the one thousandth time, bouncing up and down excitedly on his feet and grinning wildly at Louis.

"Yes, Harold, I’m aware. I was there too, ya know, it was actually my belly that they spread all that cold gel on." Louis groaned, rolling his eyes at Harry. It had been three days since they’d known, but Harry was, well, he was Harry, and he couldn’t seem to be able to wrap his mind around it, still chatting about it excitedly at every chance he got. Louis couldn’t help the fond smile that tugged at his lips, though, he loved how excited and thrilled Harry was, all teary-eyed at the fact that they had gotten to know their child—a  _her_  now—a little bit better.

"She’s gonna be beautiful. Blue eyes like yours. Talented at football and guitar and singing and Literature, like you too. Hope she’s better at Math than me, though."

"You’re not that bad, Haz. What about the name? Zayn told me the other day he thinks Zaya sounds good."

"It’s because it’s  _practically_  his name. Gemma told me the same thing yesterday. She thinks we should name the baby Gemma.”

Louis couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. “I want a name that is perfect, you know, one that is us, and her. Does that even make any sense?”

"It makes perfect senses to me," Harry smiles, "I’m thinking of, um, Rose."

"Rose, as in Titanic or Doctor Who?"

"Irrelevant."

"Harry."

"Don’t  _Harry_  me. And yes, Doctor Who.”

"It’s our baby’s name, Harold. It will stick with her for all her life.Think more carefully."

"What about Skylar? I love it. It’s like, the sky. Like the color of your eyes."

Louis breathes, “Skylar Tomlinson-Styles?”

"Yeah?"

"I love it! Haz, it’s perfect! It’s just so us. And her. It fits perfectly.” He smiled tearfully at Harry, then reached out to kiss him full on the lips.

They held each other after their lips had parted. A beat, and then: “No boyfriend until she’s forty, though.”

"Agreed."

~

Time flew past quickly for Louis and Harry in the next few weeks, and soon enough it was November and the weather was freezing. Louis had never had any good experience with winter, for the biting, harsh coldness and the white snow that covered the streets of London was just not his type of thing. He was more of an autumn person, Louis thought. Autumn, with the bright sky and the glorious colors of the falling leaves and those picnics in the park with Harry. When winter came, however, his hands and feet just got so cold that he couldn’t even feel them sometimes, and there would always be this overwhelming laziness inside of him, urging him to do nothing but stay in bed, drink hot chocolate and watch television all day.

Harry hadn’t let him go anywhere or do anything without gloves and socks and beanies on. Louis was cold without them, but sometimes it wasn’t worth getting out of his blankets to put them on. Now whenever he got lazy, Harry just fetched them and put them on for him instead, and Louis’ insides melted at the sweet gesture everytime without fail. Harry had also bought a new electrical blanket, which he made a point of getting ready for Louis while he was in the shower before bed every night. But the thing Louis loved the most, he thought, was when his body got warmed up with the heat radiating directly from Harry’s when his husband held him in bed. He loved how much cuddling he could get from Harry during winter, loved how Harry always remembered to hold him and take Louis’ hands between his own to keep them warm (he also secretly loved how tiny his hands seemed when compared to Harry’s), to make him sweet tea and rub his belly, which usually helped him sleep. He loved how Harry didn’t mind being used as a blanket almost every night—Louis’ very own blanket of Harry.

November, too, was when their child’s hearing would normally develop, so Harry had gotten in the habit of singing to her before they went to sleep. He would pick anything off the top of his head, from the songs they actually wrote to one of those popular songs for kids to the 1970s’ hits. His little show usually involved a guitar, and sometimes Louis would fall asleep, happy and content, while listening to Harry’s deep, warm voice singing  _you are my sunshine, my only sunshine_ , which he knew Harry didn’t mind.

This, too, had forced them to cut down on the amount of swearing. And Louis was a little bit embarrassed, really. Not only did he have to watch Harry glue his head and ears and hands to Louis’ belly twenty-four hours a day, but everyone else was doing this, too. From their parents to Gemma and Louis’ little sisters and the lads, everybody seemed to have an endearing, if a little weird, obsession with talking to the baby. Harry didn’t let anyone swear or curse, though, in case Skylar could  _pick up on it_. The other day, Niall and Liam had each gotten a knock on the head for accidentally letting out a few inappropriate words while dueting Pink’s  _Perfect_  for her, but the lads had just settled for bad-mouthing Harry in front of Skylar instead.

( _Your daddy’s got smelly feet, my child, and he drools in his sleep every night. You go ask your papa for further information if you wish to seek the truth._ )

Louis could almost picture everything now. A little girl depending on them, running to them when she would be scared of thunders and rain and unable to fall asleep. Tiny little hands that would always reach out for them to hold. The word daddies uttered for the first time.  _Daddies_.

Looking at Harry, though, he knew that Harry wanted this too, and he wanted this just as much as Louis.

Looking at Harry, Louis knew he was lucky.

~

If there was anything Louis feared more than feeling isolated, it would be hospitals, with the dead and the injured and the overly clean smell floating in the air. However, it was not really anyone’s fault but his that he was in the hospital all by him self now. While being pregnant. While being a male.

Wow. That sucked. A lot. And not even in a good, promising, orgasm-worthy kind of way.

Louis had read somewhere amongst a very big sea of articles and instructions and discussions about pregnancy on the Internet that anger certainly did not do good for his unborn child. So, when met with half-curious, half-loathing stares and not-so-subtle whispers from half a dozen other people in the waiting room, women and men included, Louis only bit his lips and did nothing else. He didn’t snap. He didn’t come back at them with sarcasm. He didn’t even look back, trying to distract himself by absentmindedly flicking through his and Harry’s photo album on his phone and thinking about when he would be able to take pictures of Skylar, while pretending not to have heard anything.

Louis sighed, feeling fourteen all over again. He regretted having said  _no, Haz, it’s okay,_  and  _no, you don’t need to call in at the studio today, it’s just fifteen minutes, I can wait_  and  _yes, I’m sure, really_. Or, if only he hadn’t been so stubborn, he would have taken up on the lads’ offer to go with him just so he could have someone to chat with while waiting for Harry. Then he wouldn’t feel so lonely now, sitting in a room full of people who could not, would not, accept that his homosexuality was none of their fucking business.

However, Louis’ annoyance (and a little sadness, maybe, not that he would admit it anyways) turned into slight panic when one of the men began raising his voice, talking as if he wanted everybody to hear, and Louis’ ears caught on the words _fucking disgusting faggot_  and _fucking go to hell_.

Louis flinched, feeling his face reddening, but he didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see who it was, or who his wife was, or her swollen belly where their unborn child was resting in, or the faces of the people who clearly heard what the man had said, but didn’t do anything. He didn’t want to have to think about at least another kid who would have to live with a homophobic parent, or might be raised up to become homophobic themselves, who would be one of those kids to taunt his Skylar for having two fathers. He didn’t want to allow them the pleasure of thinking that what they had said had even the slightest effect on him, or on the child he carried. It was not like he didn’t know how to deal with bigotry, close-minded dickheads—he had had to deal with them all his life, unfortunately—it was just that he was fucking pregnant, and he was not going to risk the life of his and Harry’s child for something as stupid as being lured into a fight.

Louis stayed quiet.

He was a little scared, really. He was not gonna be tricked into a fight, for sure, but come to think of it, if one of those man got pissed off with his pretentious silence and decided to just come by and pick a quarrel with him, there wouldn’t be anything he could do about that. They totally could do it, actually, since he had heard and seen homophobes doing worse and even shittier things. He was outnumbered. What would he do then? Would anyone help him? Would there be security guards? They wouldn’t like, kick or punch his belly or do anything that might harm Skylar, right?

Right?

Wrapping his arms around his belly, he squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breath in and out slowly, willing for his hammering heart to slow down.  _Calm the fuck down_ , Louis scowled himself, but his palms were damp and there were beads of sweat on his forehead, his breath coming out ragged and labored. Louis struggled for air while opening his phone with shaky fingers, typing in a message to Harry. He had to be quick, Louis thought, or else something would happen and it would be bad and he might lose his child  _oh no fuckfuckfuck—_

The door to the waiting room suddenly flew open, and Louis’ train of thoughts was instantly cut off by the loud, surprising noise. He looked up and his mouth dropped open and for one moment Louis forgot to breathe entirely, because there Harry was, standing with his body leaning heavily against the frame, panting and swaying on his feet and swearing under his breath when one of his ankles accidentally hit the door. Harry was out of breath, and his hair looked like a mess and his face was flushed red, but his eyes only needed to scan around the room for a moment before they spotted Louis sitting in a corner.

“ _Lou!_ " Harry hollered, running towards Louis with his arms extended, "I’m sorry, baby. God, the traffic was absolutely shit, and the lift wasn’t working—"

Harry was cut off mid-sentence, because before Louis even knew what he was doing, he was standing up and throwing himself at Harry. The other boy was startled, but he managed to catch Louis anyways, arms winding around him and steadying them both on the ground. Louis knew people must be looking, shooting them disgusted looks, and this was kind of dangerous anyways, but he couldn’t stop. He buried his face into Harry’s chest, and when Harry started rubbing circles on his back, Louis involuntarily let out a sniffle.

"Lou?" Harry asked, voice filled with worry, "You’re okay? Is everything okay?"

Louis shook his head. He could feel Harry’s body stiffen when he took Louis’ hand and led him to the seats in the corner, murmuring softly: “It’s okay, baby. Whatever it is, it’s gonna be okay, alright? Here, darling, sit down.” Louis sat down and Harry took the seat besides him, but he turned to look at Louis with his back facing the other people in the room, and Louis was thankful for that, for having Harry’s back as a shield, so nobody would be able to look at him if he cried. It felt safer this way. It always did with Harry.

Louis figured he’d have to tell Harry anyways, so he let Harry hold him for a bit before telling him all about what had happened, only wincing a bit when he reached the part with the word _faggot_.

"I just-just freaked out, I’m sorry…" He muttered, but Harry quickly cut him off by a press of his lips. "It’s okay," Harry said, and Louis sighed and leaned his body against Harry’s, letting the other boy wrap him up in his arms. Harry placed a hand on his swollen stomach, protectively, "I’m here now, shhh. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you or to Skylar, darling, I won’t let it."

Louis nodded, feeling warmth spread all him and he couldn’t help but give Harry a small smile. People must be leering at them, and he must look kind of pathetic like this now, but he really could not care less. Harry was here, their child was here, and they were getting to see her again in just a few minutes. He was safe with Harry and Skylar was safe with Harry and this was okay, this was good.

~

Harry Styles had never, in the twenty-two years of his entire life, been this nervous before.

April 22nd greeted them with a stormy night. The air felt cold and fresh, which Harry usually liked, but the howling winds and the sound of thunders and the heavy raindrops that belted harshly against the glass surface of the hospital windows were doing absolutely nothing but make him even more restless. Harry had run his fingers through his hair and pulled at the curls until it was even more of a mess than usual, and his nails were ragged from being chewed on. He’d been on his forth cup of tea now, but the liquid didn’t feel warm and soothing like it usually did. Instead, it sat heavily and uncomfortably at the back of his throat, unnerving him and crawling at his insides like urging him to do something, _anything_ , just stop sitting here, stop waiting so fucking uselessly when _everything_ was going on and there was  _nothing_  he could do to help.

Nine entire months, and this was it, this was the moment that decided it for them.

Louis had been transferred to the hospital the day before, more nervous and scared-looking than ever no matter how ready and prepared he was. He had agreed to a C-section, obviously, after getting heads-ups from different professional, highly reputable doctors and various men who had had the experience of giving birth to babies themselves, whom Harry had contacted via email, that a C-section was the securer and less painful method, and especially more used when it came to male pregnancy. The thought of his husband getting cut open then sewn back up still pained Harry and made him cringe, but it was easier, and most importantly, safer for Louis himself, so Harry surely wasn’t objecting to it.

(He realised now that it was indeed a good choice, because if he was _this_  nervous with a C-section, having to see Louis—precious, soft, kind Louis,  _his_  Louis—moaning and crying and screaming with labour pain like in those scenes he had seen on TV certainly would leave him weeping and collapsing in a heap on the floor.)

It was a most lucky thing that he’d got everybody with him, Harry thought, all those people he and Louis considered family, here with the two of them at this very moment. Harry hadn’t voiced it out loud, but he was nothing if not grateful for the love and care and the understanding and kindness that they got inside their hearts for him and Louis. He was grateful for his mother who had placed a kiss on top of Louis’ head and squeezed his hand right before they were sent outside; for Louis’ little sisters who had brought everyone tea and homemade cookies and chatted Louis up in a cheery tone when he had looked just a little too pale with worry; for the lads who had each squeezed Louis in a reassuring hug and kissed his cheeks, then later tried to distract Harry with ideas about their new song, even though all they got back from him was half-shrugs and distant nods.

Harry was so busied trying to sort out his thoughts and emotions and murmuring reassurances to himself that he was barely aware of a nurse approaching them and asking to see  _Mr. Tomlinson-Styles_. It was only when Gemma nudged him not-so-gently in the ribs that Harry snapped out of it and stood up, head swaying and heart thrumming wildly inside his chest. He quickly approached the nurse, his eyes wide and mouth open, about to ask her for whatever information she knew. She must have been able to read his face, though, because she quickly smiled at him and said: “Congratulations, Mr. Tomlinson-Styles. Your husband is a very strong man. The procedure went quite all right. The baby weighs about seven pounds, which means you’re having a very healthy baby girl.”

She paused and Harry let out what was meant to be a relieved laugh, but it came out like a strangled, choked cry. The group of people standing behind him began to cheer loudly at the news; both Louis’ mom and his were having their hands clutched tightly to their hearts, Niall and Liam and Zayn were dancing with the girls, while his dad gave his shoulder a squeeze and flashed him a bright grin and a thumb-up. Harry could tell from his rapidly blinking that he was fighting very hard not to cry.

Harry didn’t fight it though, he sighed and grinned and cried and before he knew it, found himself enveloped in a big, bone-crushing group hug while Gemma pinched his cheeks. “Don’t do that now, you crybaby. You’re gonna make us all cry too,” She murmured and gave his cheek a kiss. The nurse gave them all a moment before informing that he could go see Louis now, and others could come in, too, in about ten minutes. After one last hug from his mom and a kiss being blown his way by Niall, Harry let her lead the way down the halls.

When they reached Louis’ room, she opened the door for him and smiled brightly, “Congratulations again, Sir. You can come in now, you must be very eager to see your husband and daughter.”

"It’s Harry. Please just call me Harry," he answered and she nodded, still smiling. He smiled back at her before pushing the door open and walking in, making a mental note to ask for her name and send her a bouquet of flowers as a thank-you later.

The room was bight and clean, with blue walls and blue curtains and blue tiled floor. A bed was placed in the middle of the room, and Harry’s eyes found Louis instantly, half-laying, half-sitting with a blue blanket draped over his lower body, cuddling their daughter close to his chest. Harry’s heart throbbed painfully inside his chest and his breath caught in his throat because _God, isn’t that the most beautiful thing in the world?_

Louis’ head lifted and their eyes found each other, Harry’s forest green melting into Louis’ sky blue. Harry quickly crossed the room to wrap his arms around his husband and their child, and pull the two of them closer, closer. Harry cupped Louis’ face in his hand and they kissed, and Harry wondered if this could ever get old, if he could ever get enough of this, of the sweet taste of the other boy’s mouth, the way his lips felt so soft and tender between his own, the happiness of seeing Louis safe and happy and here with him, the way he couldn’t look at Louis without feeling like he was tearing up with gratefulness.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you so much," he whispered against Louis’ lips, each word came with a light kiss being pressed all over Louis’ cheeks and his forehead and nose and mouth, "You’re so strong, you’re so brave, you’re so wonderful. I love you, I love you, I love you."

"I love you too, darling," Louis whispered, smiling at Harry through the crack of his voice and the tears that had begun to fill his eyes, "Do you want to hold her?"

Harry nodded wordlessly, still too emotional for words. His arms reached out and easily, slowly, he lifted the baby girl from Louis’ hold and held her close to his chest, rocking her tenderly. She stirred ever so lightly in her peaceful sleep, eyes still closed, pink lips slightly parting. Her little hand unclenched, and Harry, without even knowing it, reached out to touch her tiny little fingers with his long, callous ones. Her touch felt so good, her skin so soft, so tender, so perfect, and suddenly Harry wanted to cry again because God, he didn’t know how to cope with this—this overwhelming feeling of happiness and amazement and protectiveness and love and just  _everything_ , everything flooding his heart at once. He wanted nothing more than to do this forever, to stay in this moment where it’s just him and her and Louis. He wanted to forever hold her in his arms and keep her there, along with Louis and they’d be a family, and he’d do anything,  _everything_  in his power (and some out of it too, sure) to keep the two of them loved, happy and protected. Harry was sure this would always be like this from now on; he’d always feel this unconditional love and fierce protectiveness for her, and he knew things would get hard sometimes, but this feeling—he hoped, he wanted, he begged that it would never, ever go away.

"God, Lou, she’s perfect," Harry said, sitting down on edge of Louis’ bed, eyes still locking on the little miracle in his arms, "Just like you."

"Shush, dummy," Louis smiled sweetly at him, "We made her together. She’s both of us."

~

Later that night, when all the guests had gone (it took such a long time for them to be able to finally, finally walk through the door without looking back and asking if they could really come back tomorrow), Harry and Louis ended up squeezing themselves together on the tiny little bed (the nurses might not approve of this, but they were doing this anyways). Louis yawned loudly as soon as the lights went out, pressing his face against Harry’s chest, head tucked under his chin, drifting off to sleep immediately.

Harry held him close, absentmindedly playing with his hair and rubbing circles on his back.

After a while, a thought popped up in Harry’s mind, and he nudged Louis gently, “Hey, Lou, darling, hey.”

"Y-yeah?" he yawned, “‘m sleeping, Harold."

"I know what tattoo for us to get next," Harry said happily, to which Louis just nodded and smiled in agreement, giving Harry’s throat a kiss before going back to sleep immediately. The storm hadn’t stopped, but it was no more than a lullaby to the two of them now. No amount of thunders and rain could break the bubble of happiness and content that surrounded them, along with the promise of a bright future, a family of their own with their miraculous, wonderful, beautiful little daughter.


End file.
